


If Flowers Could Talk

by maskofthehero



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Angst, Gift Fic, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maskofthehero/pseuds/maskofthehero
Summary: Kanon's love for Schneizel was easy to live with, but when it gives way to the deadly Hanahaki Disease, Kanon is thrown between two choices, two fates, each of which seems worse than the other. On one hand the flower was going to kill him, but on the other hand, Kanon is willing to die for his prince.
Relationships: Schneizel el Britannia/Kanon Maldini
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	If Flowers Could Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruruchii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruruchii/gifts).



> Another Schneizel/Kanon gift fic for my dear friend who has never stopped supporting me nor stopped being crazy about this couple.

Kanon didn’t know things would go this far.

He didn’t think they _could_ go this far.

It is true that he has been enchanted by the prince from the very first moment they met. There are plenty of words going around about the royal family, about how the members are perfect beyond belief. Although Kanon never mistrusted such words, he never really took them to heart, either; it seemed natural for people to praise the royal family. But all his doubts melted away when he met Schneizel. Everything said about the prince was certainly true. From his dashing good looks to his impeccable intuition, Schneizel was the very embodiment of the perfection Kanon deemed unrealistic.

Captivated as he was, Kanon never imagined he would reach this point. He never imagined he would overflow with such sentiments, never imagined his heart would oscillate every time he was held in the gaze of those lilac eyes. Yet here he was, barely able to control his breathing, watching with baffling astonishment as his prince signs off some papers.

It is a sight Kanon has been witnessing practically every day since he took this position. Though now, he sees it in an entirely different light; at first, it was just Schneizel signing some papers. It was nothing worth paying much attention to. Now, though, Kanon can’t help but examine every last detail, drowned in his entrancement. There is something ever so captivating about the way Schneizel wraps his gloved fingers around the ivory pen. The way he applies pressure with his thumb and index finger and slides the pen on the paper with utmost smoothness. 

And most prominently, the lilac crystals that are staring down at the papers in immense sophistication, all while looking as serene as sunrise. Maybe the intense calculations behind those eyes are only visible to Kanon, after being subject to their stare for a long, long time. As little as it was, Kanon took satisfaction in the fact that parts of Schneizel’s persona have been exposed to him over time.

Kanon could have gone on and on about Schneizel’s entrancing grip on his heart and soul. But the pen dropping onto the desk produces a sound that shakes Kanon back into reality, frees him from captivation. When the prince turns to his aide, there is a small yet dazzling smile on his lips. It wasn’t the polite smile he would wear at a formal event, nor was it the proud smirk after winning a chess match against his brother. It was a soft smile that would have conveyed deep emotions if it weren’t constricted to the bare minimum it showed, like flowers showing hints of blooming rather than performing the action itself.

When Schneizel speaks, his smooth glass of a voice enwraps around Kanon. Schneizel was not a man of many words, so hearing him speak would so often cause that pitter-patter in Kanon’s chest.

“It appears that we are done for today,” the prince says.

The aide takes little longer than he usually would to register the words, and produce a reply. “It appears so, Your Highness.” He is grateful that his words were clear and composed, when the jitters were fervid and fierce in his body.

“Though we’ve only finished work ahead of time. We still have the long day stretched ahead of us,” Schneizel muses, running a gloved finger in a straight line on his desk. “Care to join me for some tea?”

Kanon chooses not to reply immediately. Despite his authority, Schneizel never demands instant responses from Kanon, and instead allows him however much time he wants to think. Though it never proved a difference with Kanon—he could always keep a conversation speedy and smooth, especially with Schneizel—it was now an occurrence he was very thankful for. He tries to find a way to transform his unruly thoughts into words—of course he wants to join Schneizel for some tea. He already takes great pleasure in merely standing near Schneizel, not much different from the statues lining the corridors from the palace. He would play the role all day long if he has to, so long as Schneizel was there with him.

Taking a deep breath, Kanon wills his beating heart to still, before uttering a small reply.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”

~

A quick change of scenery finds the prince and his aide in the garden overlooked on by the office they had been in. The ivory table they are seated on seemed large enough to tend to half a dozen people, but for now, was only there for the two of them.

It was indeed still early in the day. The sun had only started to climb down from its peak, casting rays that reflected on Schneizel’s golden hair. There was also the gentle breeze that made those locks shift. It was like nature itself was contributing to Schneizel’s already overwhelming beauty.

It should have come to Kanon’s realisation that he was staring. But how could he be aware of that, when he was blessed to have a chance to examine Schneizel’s craft up close? Being so close to the handsome prince, in a place many others could only dream of being, staring seemed like a privilege. And he probably would have continued doing so, if those lilacs didn’t abruptly cast their sharp gaze right into him, almost threatening to halt the beating of his heart.

“You seem troubled,” Schneizel says, his face undecipherable, leaving Kanon to guess what prompted him to note that.

Kanon’s search emerges with nothing—as usual, Schneizel can be a mystery sometimes. “Why I’m perfectly well, Your Highness. What makes you to say such thing?”

“You haven’t touched anything since we’ve sat down.”

Another thing Kanon was completely unaware of. Schneizel had already poured himself some tea, stirred in a cube of sugar, while Kanon was in the role of the statue. Realising that he might have just offended his prince, Kanon hastily pours himself some tea. He grabs the small spoon, though he doesn’t know why, considering he never even adds sugar to his tea. Maybe he was just scrambling to do anything, anything to rid Schneizel of the misconception that he doesn’t want to be here. His heartbeat became more erratic with every passing moment, and he was barely able to keep panic at bay.

A gloved hand coats Kanon’s, and makes him slowly put the spoon back on the table. Gaping at the touching of his hand with his prince’s, Kanon is once again reminded of his strong aversion towards the Britannian custom of wearing gloves. Part of him ached to know just what it would be like for their fingers to touch, the gloves out of the way. He wondered if he would ever feel the light brush of their skins together. But maybe, even in his proximity to the prince, there still existed things Kanon was forbidden from experiencing.

“Kanon,” Schneizel calls in a low voice, a frown on his lips. “I didn’t order you to join me. I asked you to. You had the option of declining had you not wanted to come.”

Kanon parts his lips before he can begin to form a sentence. He only knows that he wants to—has to prove his prince wrong. He takes a moment to compose himself before saying, “No, Your Highness, that is not the case at all.” He was not aware their hands were still connected until Schneizel retracted his. The loss sent an unpleasant sting through Kanon.

The intense gaze of those lilacs lingers. Schneizel examines Kanon with intensity, as if calculating the probability of Kanon stating the truth, or trying to figure out other possible cases.

“Believe me, Your Highness,” Kanon assures, “I all but wanted to decline your offer.” He feels some of the tension melt when Schneizel’s gaze softens.

“I see.” Schneizel still sounds a tad doubtful. “I hope you are aware, Kanon, of the implications of my invitation.” A moment of silence, in which Kanon offers no response. Then he continues, “I consider it rather vital that we spend time together, not as a royal and his worker, but just as ourselves.”

Kanon can feel butterflies soaring from his stomach up to his chest. They make the air catch in his lungs, a tingling sensation Kanon isn’t sure is real, or just a trick played by his vehement mind. Schneizel, ever the expert in conversing with mere actions, smiles at him before his lips disappear behind his teacup. As short-lived as it was, that moment was enough to make Kanon’s heart skitter like the flapping of the butterflies roaming around his body. This smile was much, much more than the one he’d been given earlier. It was a plunge into the deep ocean rather than a skim at the surface. It was those beautiful flowers actually coming to bloom.

Kanon goes still as a statue. With the little clarity that remains in his mind he is able to lift his cup up to his lips; assurance to his prince, lest he once again believe his aide refuses to be here.

Schneizel’s words continue swirling and swirling through Kanon’s mind, a blizzard encompassing feelings both familiar and foreign.

_Not as a royal and his worker, but as ourselves._

Hearing such words sparked something inside Kanon, and he feared the ignition would give way to a flame that burns beyond his control. His suspicions are strengthened when he feels the little whirl in his chest, slowly climbing up to his throat. Clearing his mind, he shoves the sensations deep inside him, and forces himself to devote his full attention to the cup at his lips.

Smalls swirls of vapour floated over the surface of the tea, casting warmth on Kanon’s mouth. But when he parts his lips to take a sip, Kanon abruptly coughs.

Concern is quick to flash on Schneizel’s face, as those lilacs fix themselves on Kanon. “Are you not feeling well?” he asks. Undoubtedly, he was trying to figure out every possible case that would cause Kanon to cough. That was Schneizel; always contemplating, always calculating, even to such mere events.

Kanon finds himself answering before he has a chance to ponder on the matter himself. “No, Your Highness, I am perfectly well—” he is interrupted by another cough. And another. And another. He continues coughing in his fist, feeling that same whirl moving inside him intensifying. He is keenly aware of Schneizel’s growing concern, and tries to put an end to his coughing but it is out of his control.

Kanon’s swarm of coughs ends with one fierce cough, and something drops into his closed fist.

Silence sets on the prince and his aide, both appalled with the unexpected event. Kanon’s heart was hammering against his ribs, dismaying every order to go still. It takes every last bit of his effort to hold Schneizel’s gaze.

“You are definitely not well, Kanon. Your coughs sounded rather alarming.” Concern was painted all over Schneizel’s face. His eyes were narrowed in a way that suggested he suspected Kanon of murder, not of being unwell.

Deeply, calmly, and slowly, Kanon inhales. He can finally feel his screaming heart quieting down. His easy smile doesn’t feel right on his lips when he says, “Trust me, Your Highness. I have no reason to hide it from you should I feel unwell in the slightest. Our relationship is bound by strict honesty, and I would not break that even in this case.” He is grateful his words are spoken consistently, with no hint of the shakiness he feels inside.

Quick-witted as ever, Schneizel only allows a small moment of silence before he speaks. “I have no reason to doubt you,” he says, “but I can’t entirely dispel my concern.”

“It flatters me, Your Highness’s concern for my health. I once more assure you that I do not feel unwell. My cough was probably induced by some irritation in my throat, and for that I am sure this would help.” At the last words, Kanon lifts the still-hot tea to his lips and takes a sip.

He’d only used the tea as an excuse to drive away Schneizel’s doubt, without thinking much of what the tea could do to his throat. The warmth of the tea sent a satisfying sensation through his mouth, but did nothing to calm his burning throat. It might have just made it feel worse.

But whatever unpleasant stings go unnoticed by Kanon, for the smile on his prince’s face captivated him to the point of numbness against anything unpleasant. He relishes the few moments the alluring smile is visible, when Schneizel was not sipping his tea. The aide once again feels the little tingles in his chest, down his arms and back. The tingles that smile, always, always gave him. He knows that no matter what happens, this sensation—all sensations Schneizel stirs up inside him—would never change, even in the slightest.

Able to keep up the serene and joyful guise, Kanon keeps his fist tightly closed around what dropped from his mouth.

~

Of course it was love.

How could there be another explanation?

There is no other way to justify the skipping of Kanon’s heart, the warmth spreading throughout his body, the immense desire to always, always be by his prince’s side.

It’s always been love.

Kanon had had his doubts at first, but seeing the petal in his palm sent a shock that rocked his entire world. That day, he’d kept his fist closed around it for over an hour, hoping with all his might that no one would notice he is hiding something, that he is barely keeping distress at bay.

When he’d finally had time to be alone, Kanon slowly unclosed his fist. His hand was stiff and sweaty under his glove. What had dropped from his mouth was a small petal. As inconsiderable as the little thing was, Kanon was too mindful of the Hanahaki Disease, and he knew of its devastating potential. He knew that with the passing of time the petals will multiply and add up to whole flowers, manifesting in his chest, crawling up his throat, choking him...

But maybe Kanon was making a mountain of a molehill. Maybe he was going way ahead of himself, thinking the small petal would one day choke him. Maybe he is now thrown in a whirlwind of questions, without certainty of anything in the present or the future.

Still, in all his doubts, there was one thing he was sure of. A steel of certainty, strengthened by the mere beating of his heart.

It was his love for Schneizel.

That sole thing, Kanon knew, was as certain as can be. Like the sun rising in the morning sky, the stars cascaded over the night sky. It wasn’t something one had to check for. It was something known to every last aspect. His love for his prince was no different.

But with this ascertainment was another conviction, sorely undeniable: how unpredictable this love was. It might just have the power to intensify the petals in a single moment, choking him before he knows it. There was no way to tell.

Torn between appeasement from the present and dread of the future, Kanon was only just able to keep the petals a secret. Passing the coughs off as something completely unrelated to the Hanahaki Disease, avoiding any medics he passes by, making sure no eyes fell on the petals. It was quick thinking as well as beforehand planning that saved Kanon’s secret, and he didn’t even have to put much effort into it.

But Lady Luck had vanished from Kanon’s side in the one situation she is most needed: being present in Schneizel’s office.

A venture that has been integrated into his daily life shouldn’t feel so different, but Kanon’s nerves were on the edge. He knew for a fact that what worked with the entirety of workers in the palace would never work on Schneizel. The second prince won’t take vague answers, excuses—anything that isn’t fact. An attribute to his intuition, one Kanon found admirable, at that, but it was now his biggest enemy.

He could already feel his composure falter when Schneizel directs his attention to him. His voice is somehow both soft and sharp when he asks, “How are you feeling?”

It was only with that short, simple question that Kanon felt cornered, felt like whichever angle he pointed his answer towards, Schneizel would see right through him.

He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. Schneizel asked how he is feeling so he shall answer with how he is feeling and nothing else. “Quite well, Your Highness. I appreciate your asking.”

There it was again: the seemingly invisible seam of calculations, hidden behind the serenity of those lilac eyes. “I don’t disbelieve you,” Schneizel says; as always, he picks just the right words. “But in light of recent occurrences it is hard for anyone, yourself included, to believe that you truly are well.”

 _Distress will only make it worse_ , Kanon says to himself as he forces an easy smile to bend his lips. “Whatever occurrences do you speak of?” His nonchalant tone is half forced, half natural as he does want to hear an answer to that question.

“Now I can’t tell whether you haven’t realised it or wish not to realise it.” Schneizel’s words are wrapped in a soft sigh. He runs his fingers along the edge of his desk. “For starters, you’ve been looking rather pale the past couple of days.”

Kanon could already feel his heartbeat picking up speed.

“Then there are the coughs that are getting more frequent, the ones you always pass as negligible but definitely do not seem so. You excuse yourself often, looking for any chance to isolate yourself, avoiding others. Once or twice have you been spotted with blood along your lips.” Schneizel pauses, perhaps waiting for Kanon to contradict any of his words.

But Kanon had nothing to say.

Schneizel lets the silence stretch on for a minute before concluding, “It doesn’t take much to figure out that there is a defect to your health, Kanon.”

Kanon still had nothing to say.

He should have known Schneizel would connect the dots with great ease. But, as the prince said, it would be easy for anyone to notice that Kanon is sick.

He knew he would reach this point. He just didn’t know it was this close by.

Defeat surges through him. He is surprised he can still hold Schneizel’s gaze. Only when he loosens his body does he realise it was stiffened in the first place.

“You speak the truth, Your Highness.” Kanon’s voice is lower than usual. It takes every last bit of his power to prevent himself from breaking the eye contact.

“One thing I can’t figure out, though, is why you would refuse to tell me. You said it yourself that our relationship is bound by strict honesty, and your health is no matter that should be treated differently. If you’d tell me about your problem I’d only help you find aid for it.”

Kanon was not surprised. After all, Schneizel was keen on showing genuine concern for his wellbeing. It all at once warmed Kanon and filled him with dread.

“Unfortunately, Your Highness,” he speaks slowly, carefully, “I fear that what I am dealing with cannot be aided with ease.”

“I will help you myself, Kanon, and I will make sure you get help from others as well.” Determination was painted all over Schneizel’s profile. “You do not need to share details if you wish not to, but, at the very least, allow us to help you.”

Although Schneizel’s words cause warmth to spread through Kanon, the aide prevents them from getting to him. He lightly shakes his head, to Schneizel, to himself. “I have not once doubted your support, Your Highness, but this is really not something you can help me with.”

_It’s something you’ve caused._

_It’s you causing it, you trying to fix it._

_You can never get away from me._

Schneizel blinks, confused. “I’m willing to help you with anything, Kanon.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for his words to sink in. “You can tell me.”

Of course Kanon could tell him.

Schneizel is the person he shares most of his time and words with. Between them was built a bridge easier than anything to cross. Schneizel was his confidant, and vice versa.

He could easily tell him.

But what was he supposed to tell him?

Tell him he has the Hanahaki Disease?

Tell him he is in love?

If that were to happen, Kanon wasn’t so sure he’d be able to leave out that little, final bit:

_Your Highness, I am in love..._

_...with you._

With every passing second the beating of Kanon’s heart increased. As Schneizel’s determination. As the silence they are trapped in.

Kanon opens his mouth to talk, but a cough comes out instead, followed by more and more coughs.

In these instances he would wave people away. He would walk away himself. He would mutter a quick excuse in the midst of struggling for breath.

But not now.

Not when Schneizel was right across of him.

Before Kanon knew it his coughs became fiercer, and half a dozen petals flew out of his mouth and into the air.

He couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t come up with an excuse. And above all, he couldn’t tell Schneizel not to look.

It was too late. It has always been too late. Even in the very beginning it was too late.

Schneizel was staring at the petals as they drifted towards the floor in utmost disbelief.

It was a rare occasion, one most people believed didn’t even exist: Schneizel was speechless. He was only shaking his head as he eyed the petals. A breathy, “Kanon... you...” was all he had to offer.

Kanon perfectly heard it, like it had been spoken loudly and clearly:

_Kanon, you’re in love..._

But Schneizel left out that little, final bit:

_...with me._

~

“You two had better not be working your way towards another stalemate.”

“Get on one side of the board and I assure you, Clovis, a stalemate will not be a possible outcome,” Lelouch retorts on Schneizel’s behalf. The second prince chooses to remain silent; Clovis and Lelouch bickering is something he, as well as everyone in the palace, is quite used to and the best option in such cases is to stay out and let them be.

“But can you eliminate that possibility when you are on one side and Schneizel is on the other?” Clovis tilts his head, his long golden locks falling on his shoulder. There was a silent dare concealed in those blue eyes.

Lelouch follows Schneizel’s lead and remains silent, though his knuckles are whitened as he grips the black king and there is a quiet thud where he places the king on the board.

Schneizel immediately counters the move. Lelouch does the same.

The second and eleventh princes go on and on. It was becoming apparent that a stalemate couldn’t be entirely ruled out. The majority of their games ended up that way, after all. In some cases Schneizel would win by checkmate, but Lelouch has been doing his best to put an end to those. Schneizel more than anything admired his younger brother’s ceaseless effort to improve.

A lot has changed in the brothers’ princely lives, things coming and going, appearing and vanishing, and chess was the sole thing to remain. Their love for it, their desire to play it. At any chapters of their lives chess was present, never wearing off its role. It made Schneizel feel like maybe their lives haven’t undergone that great of a change. Though it oddly perplexed him, how quickly those images of Lelouch flashed before his eyes, each from a different chapter. The Lelouch in front of him now was steadfast, unhesitant as his fingers wrap around the black king like he was born for that purpose, his violet eyes sharp and intense. Then the image flickers, and Schneizel sees a younger Lelouch, fingers curled into a tight fist as he scans the board, in a state of nerves as he tries to think of a counterattack, his eyes trembling. Next came Lelouch huffing in anger as he is checkmated, obviously displeased yet refusing to accept defeat.

The image flickers again, and Schneizel could see a Lelouch cloaked in pride, smirking as he checkmates his older brother. He wondered if that image would ever be a reality. It was a premise that evoked both pride in his younger brother, and fear of him.

There wasn’t much to dwell over in the present, however, as the game ends with a few more moves. A draw, just as everyone expected. Schneizel can’t tell if Lelouch’s perfectly calm countenance is a sincere show of his feelings or a facade to fool his older brother. The eleventh prince can be really hard to decipher at times. But Schneizel guessed it to be the first one; a game ending in a draw is something they are both used to at this point. If anyone, Clovis is the one who is displeased at the frequent occurrence, though now he doesn’t have a chance to voice any objections as Euphemia is quick to speak up, her merry energy splashing over her siblings.

“I’m done with my sketch!” she says, excitement colouring her voice. She had recently called upon Clovis for art lessons, something her brother was very happy to comply with. Finally done with her latest artsy task, she drops her pencil and turns the sheet for her siblings to see.

Being her mentor, Clovis is the first to observe and comment, “You... said that you are going to draw the vase on the table.”

Euphemia shrugs. “You told me to draw anything that grabs my attention, and I found this a way better fit.” She runs the tip of her finger over the edge of her sketch, over the stray lock of Lelouch’s ebony hair.

Lelouch’s eyes were narrowed in concentration, obviously staring at the chessboard that wasn’t drawn. One hand was on his chest, fingers splayed over the white cravat. The other one was near the invisible chessboard, holding a deeply shaded king. The black king.

Lelouch’s eyebrows quirk. “I am very flattered that you deem my craft worthy of being recaptured in your art.” He stretches his hand in request of the paper. He admires the sketch up close, a small smile on his lips.

“You seem to be developing some skills, Euphy,” Schneizel says. He was quite impressed with the vast resemblance between Lelouch and the sketch, from the few unruly locks of hair to the fingers curled around the king.

“All because of my teaching, of course,” Clovis feels the need to add.

“As always, we have to shine the light on you, Clovis, or you might die from lack of attention.” Lelouch rolls his eyes, handing Clovis the paper so the master can view it for himself. “By the way, Schneizel.” He turns to his other brother, somewhat uneasy. “I heard about Kanon.”

“Me too!” Euphemia exclaims. “I’ve seen him around a few times and I could tell that he wasn’t well, but I had no idea he is suffering from such a disease. How is he doing?” The princess was known for bearing sympathy that extends towards everyone, including people that don’t concern her. Nonetheless Schneizel was surprised at the dejection in her voice.

Schneizel takes a moment before replying, “I’m not really sure. He keeps saying that he is fine, but he doesn’t look like it.” He lightly shakes his head. In all their years together, Kanon would never hide anything from him, and yet...

“Wait wait wait,” Clovis says, waving one arm while the other extends in reach for a pencil. “Kanon is ill?”

“You would be surprised at the things you’d find out around you if you had a little attention to spare,” Lelouch says, rather sourly. He, just like Euphemia, was always heeding to everyone around him.

“I _am_ paying attention, and I _did_ hear a thing or two about Kanon.” Clovis draws several parallel lines on the bottom of the sketch, then draws more lines from another angle that cross them, making many little squares. “But I never heard of this disease he is suffering from.”

“It’s the Hanahaki Disease,” Euphemia says sadly. “Kanon is in love with someone...”

“But that person doesn’t love him back,” Schneizel finishes when his sister goes silent.

For many days he has been thinking his mind inside out. But no smidgen of the intellect that has helped him through countless debates, battles, chess matches, was able to help him come to any answers. The last thing the prince would want to say is that his aide is lying to him, but his words can be too hard to believe when they are spoken with those painful smiles.

“He should just go for the surgery,” Lelouch says dismissively, also waving his hand dismissively, even though no one even suggested anything just yet. “There is no point in battling a fatal disease for the sake of someone who doesn’t even return his feelings.”

“But some people can be worth going through the pain for.” Euphemia casts her sad, gentle gaze towards Lelouch.

“ ‘Some people’ is an area that probably shouldn’t include people that are ignorant of your feelings to the extent that you come down with the Hanahaki Disease.”

Schneizel ponders on Lelouch’s words for a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak so generally of it, Lelouch. Maybe one day you’ll get to experience love and truly understand how much it is worth fighting for.”

The violet-eyed boy scoffs. “Yeah, _that_ ’ll happen.”

“Again, wait.” Instead of waving his arm, Clovis lifts a palm at his siblings. “Why should Kanon go for the surgery?”

“Because his feelings are not being returned. Try to keep up, Clovis.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Clovis rolls his eyes, shading into the small squares he’s drawn, leaving one white square next to each shaded one. “I mean _why_ aren’t his feelings _being_ returned?”

“Why are you asking that in such an accusatory way?” Lelouch sits up a little straighter. “You’re making it sound like one of us is responsible for him getting the disease.”

“Try to keep up, Lelouch,” Clovis mocks. “One of you guys _is_ responsible for him getting the disease.”

Schneizel turns to his brother, merging all his raging questions into a single, simple one: “Care to explain?”

Euphemia also asks, “What do you mean by that, Clovis?”

“What she means to ask is have you finally lost your slippery grip on sanity, Clovis?” Lelouch snaps, his reserved attitude cracking just a bit to expose his shock.

Clovis’s sapphires jump from one sibling to another, mirroring their disbelief. “I should be asking you guys that question! Haven’t you guys figured it out yet?”

“That you’re inane?” Lelouch offers, examining his gloved hand. “That ship has long ago sailed.”

“Thank you for your kind contribution, Lelouch,” Clovis says coldly and quickly, not wanting to stray off the subject matter. “Don’t you guys know who it is Kanon has developed feelings for?”

Euphemia leans into the table. “We’re not exactly following you.” Rather surprising how she was able to phrase her words in gentle, polite manner.

“ _It’s him_!” The words practically jump out of Clovis’s throat as he points a finger right at Schneizel.

Silence settles on the royals for a moment.

Two moments.

Three moments.

Many, many moments.

Lelouch is the one to break the silence. “It’s official. You have officially lost it.”

Schneizel decides not to speak just yet. Although a small part of him agreed with Lelouch, he couldn’t help but think of all the thinking he’s been doing lately. All the fruitless searching, the endless pondering thrown in vain. He isn’t all too sure about throwing away any possibility he is offered, but the possibility that Kanon is in love with _him_? Schneizel shakes his head. He barely notices when the words leave his mouth, spoken in a low voice, “That can’t be...”

“And why is that?” Clovis lifts an eyebrow, hastily shading another square.

“Because it’s...” Schneizel has to search for a word. “It’s...”

He was unable to find any words.

“It’s absurd. Ludicrous. Bizarre.” Lelouch says in his stead. But none of these words were the ones that depicted Schneizel’s thoughts.

“Why do you always feel the need to speak on behalf of others?” Clovis snaps at Lelouch.

The eleventh prince waves the words away, as if they had been physical, unwanted objects hovering near him. “I am sure that all of us, speaking or not, agree that this is illogical.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll show you logic.” Clovis drops his pen onto the table. There were still four squares that needed to be shaded to complete the chessboard. “Tell me, Schneizel,” he says in a slow, refined manner, as he turns to his older brother. “Who is the person, us excluded, that you spend the most time with?”

“Kanon,” Schneizel answers immediately, easily. It was a fact everyone knew, and he found no reason to be rattled at the question.

“Who is the person that is first to greet you a good morning and last to bid you a fair evening?”

“Kanon.”

“Who is the person that is always, always by your side, in no way affected by other people’s closure nor aversion from you?”

“Kanon.” The name was spoken slower this time, shedding off some certainty.

Clovis waves his fingers at Schneizel. “And there you have it.” He picks the pencil up again and resumes drawing the chessboard.

“That’s not _logic_!” Lelouch exclaims. “What you asked had absolutely no correlation with developing feelings!” he huffs, crossing his arms. “My knight is no different to me than Kanon is to Schneizel. He spends most of his time with me, bids me day and night, is by my side in all circumstances. Would you say he would develop feelings for me?”

Clovis lifts a finger. Parts his lips. Inhales.

“ _That was a rhetorical question, Clovis, don’t you dare answer it_!”

“Actually, I believe that love can be found just about anywhere,” Euphemia speaks up, her soft voice a new addition to the terse atmosphere. “And as atypical as that sounds, I don’t think it is a possibility that we shouldn’t take into consideration.”

Much against his will, one of Schneizel’s nerves responds to his sister’s words.

Clovis examines the chessboard, paying close attention to the pattern engraved onto the edges, then replicates it on the drawing. “Well, it doesn’t matter what we deem the situation to be. The truth might be hiding, but it still definitely exists.”

~

Kanon’s love was truly powerful.

His love wasn’t droplets that slowly watered the plant. It was a powerful elixir, nourishing the plant moment by moment, making it grow faster than Kanon could comprehend. Before he knew it, a heavy feeling manifested in his chest, a weight pressing into him at all times.

Dozens of petals would fly out of his mouth when he coughs. Each and every one of his muscles would clench. In reality it was a few moments, but in his mind it seemed like eons when he’d choke on the petals. Inside him lurked fear that the choking wouldn’t pass, that he’d take his last breath then and there. The horror would remain, even after the coughing subdues and the air reaches his lungs once more. Not even taking deep breaths could assure him that the attack has ended.

As anyone would expect, Schneizel obliged Kanon to visit the medic at the palace. To make things worse, or maybe, better, the prince accompanied Kanon on his visit. It wasn’t a new fact for Kanon that Schneizel cares for him, but it was rather ironic how the person that caused Kanon’s illness happens to be the person that wants more than anything else Kanon’s healing.

The doctor went on with explaining the three stages of the Hanahaki Disease, but neither the discourse nor the elaborate diagrams could keep Kanon in focus. The only piece of information that managed to enter his mind was one he’d already known: he was developing the disease at a quick pace. The doctor didn’t exactly say this but it was clear to everyone that Kanon won’t have much time left.

That brought them to another conviction: the two possible ways to treat the disease. The first one was confronting the root of the causation, and that is finding the person Kanon caught feelings for, and trying for a two-sided love. Kanon’s heart had practically frozen in place when he was asked if he had any clues as to who that person might be. His head felt like rusted gear when he’d shaken it, at himself more than anyone else. It wasn’t an _I don’t know_ as much as it was an _I mustn’t say_.

Then came the second option, which was the surgery. The doctor emphasised that undergoing the surgery is a quick way to fully cure the disease, immediately restoring Kanon’s health to the optimum. However, there was one lamentable side-effect: Kanon will no longer be in love, nor will he remember who he was in love with. When asked how he would feel about that, Kanon said nothing. It was obvious that it wasn’t something he could answer on the spot. The doctor said he has time to decide, though her nonchalance ironically suggested otherwise.

After the visit ended, Kanon was urged to rest at the hospital wing for a few hours. For the first time in his life the aide was appeased to have his prince leave his side. Only then was he able to think clearly, for his heart had covered his mind with its desperate screaming that the person he is in love with has always been right by his side.

But Kanon didn’t know how, exactly, to think. Confront Schneizel about his feelings? Undergo the surgery and forget his feelings? He was caught between a rock and a hard place. The choice couldn’t be made, and Kanon didn’t even need to try to know that.

Whatever time he had wasn’t enough for him to make a choice. He could have an entire lifetime and it still wouldn’t be enough.

But it was hard to turn a blind eye to the matter. Not when the flower kept growing. Not when he could feel it keep growing.

The flower was going to kill Kanon. But Kanon can’t say he won’t die for his prince.

He opens the faucet and collects cool water in his palms. He splashes the water on his face. Despite his facial muscles being relieved by the contact, most of his body remained heavy, close to a state of pain. His sapphires fix on the lustrous, almost reflective marble of the sink. His breaths are small, short-cut, and when he tries to breathe with more depth a pain tears in his lungs.

After a small while of calming himself down, he exits the bathroom. Making his way out of his private room, he goes back to walking the halls of the palace, as if he had no worries in his life. It was easy to play pretend like this. It was easy for him to walk the halls in absolute serenity, as if he hadn’t been coughing petals after petals up his charred oesophagus just moments earlier.

He could only walk a small distance before he felt pain sink in. His body suddenly became heavier, and he doubted his legs could still keep him up.

 _Why here and now_? Kanon wondered. The attacks were typically followed by a few hours of calmness, and those few hours were the most important part of Kanon’s day, for they were the only times he could be by his prince’s side. The only times he could say he is not feeling unwell without it being a lie, and the only times Schneizel would fully believe him.

Kanon still couldn’t figure out why he longed to be by Schneizel’s side even after all the pain the prince has caused him. It was a strange paradox indeed, how the cause of his pain also happened to relieve him from it.

There was something about Schneizel’s presence that oddly comforted him.

But was he going to sacrifice that, now that the disease’s torment has become ceaseless? Kanon couldn’t afford that, couldn’t so much as think about being completely cut away from his prince. The idea was enough to make shivers run down his body. Or, maybe, that was just the disease’s continued impact.

Kanon presses his hand to his chest, hoping the expansion is just a trick played by his mind. The air could only enter his lungs in small quantities, but he forced his breaths to be slow, refused to give way to panting. He feels electricity coursing through his veins and hears blood rushing in his ears. But along with that he hears something else.

The call of his name.

Kanon looks up to see Schneizel in front of him.

The prince’s eyes were wide. His lips were slightly parted. Schneizel is always keen on keeping emotions from showing on his face, but at the moment he looked absolutely mortified.

It takes Kanon a few moments to snap back into reality, and he forces his weight back on his feet and drops his hand from his chest. “Your Highness,” he says, forcing neutrality to his tone.

Schneizel shakes his head. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing... what?”

“Pretending to be okay.”

Kanon blinks. He was about to say something opposing his prince, but he was cut off before he could even start.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Kanon,” Schneizel says, walking a few steps closer. “You keep saying it over and over again that you’re well but anyone can see it’s not true. _I_ can see it’s not true. I already said you are excused from your work until you are cured from the disease, but you still insist on showing up. You always insist. Why do you insist?” Schneizel’s voice became a tad sharper. “Why do you want to make things harder on yourself?”

“It is the opposite, Your Highness.” Kanon screamed the words in his head but quietly, respectfully, got them past his lips.

“Are you saying that showing up to work makes you feel _better_?” Schneizel seemed more confused at the question than he would be at any possible answer.

 _Being by your side_ _makes me feel better_ , Kanon desperately wanted to say.

But he stayed quiet.

Schneizel shakes his head once more, as if he disagreed with what Kanon didn’t even say. “Can’t you see that it’s hard for me, Kanon?” he asks quietly, walking even closer so that he is only a step or two away from the other man.

“Hard for you?” Kanon echoes the words, trying to find any possible meaning behind them. “What is, Your Highness?”

“ _Seeing you like this_.” His voice was even quieter, in a way that made it sound like he wanted it to be louder. “Seeing you pretend to be well when you’re obviously suffering so much. Seeing you subject yourself to even more suffering. I might as well be the person fighting the disease because seeing you suffer is no different to me.”

Kanon stays quiet. He doesn’t bother searching for words, because he knows he won’t find any.

“I have said it before Kanon. You are not just a worker to me. You are... well, I might not know what, exactly, you are to me, but I do know that you are important. Important enough to make me despise seeing you in such pain. I just can’t do it, Kanon.”

A small breath. That was all Kanon could take before he fell to the floor.

He doesn’t remember the process of falling, but he was, suddenly, on the floor. Schneizel, as quick to react as ever, shoots his arms at him the moment he tipped over, making sure his fall is gentle. He even keeps his arms around him for support.

For a small, small moment, Kanon was able to appreciate being in his prince’s arms, a place he never dared to think of being in. The appreciation came in the skittering of his heart, the heat igniting in his body.

But that was when pain took over his entire body.

The attacks of the Hanahaki Disease always hurt his chest and, sometimes, his guts. This time was different. This time, his body hurt from his head down to his feet.

The air was knocked out of his lungs, as if he’d been kicked in the chest. He tries to cough but there is no air to leave his body. He feared his insides will jump out of his body. There was the somewhat familiar feeling of thin, smooth petals climbing up his windpipe, but that, too, was different. Kanon has before coughed up bundles of petals, but that felt nothing like this. This felt much, much worse. He just knew he will choke on what is climbing up to his throat.

Miraculously, he is able to cough it out, that full flower. It had taken several, violent coughs, but it was over.

But Kanon could only take in half a breath before he felt another flower on its way.

He didn’t think it was possible, but the pain increased. He wasn’t even aware his hands were one Schneizel’s arms until his grip tightened, almost enough to tear the prince’s overcoat.

Schneizel’s grip also tightened on him, and it made things worse.

Always with words, always with actions. Schneizel was always playing with Kanon’s heart. Did he even know how to stop?

Kanon became dizzy with pain. He was surprised he still had it in him to keep sitting up. Through his blurry vision, he could see a small pool of blood on the floor, splayed around the flower. Rather surprisingly, he found himself appreciating its... beauty. There was a beautiful contrast between the bright, turquoise flower and the dark, red blood.

He coughs again and again and again. The second flower comes out of his mouth, falling next to its companion. The next few coughs emerge with nothing but blood, but the contractions in his chest suggested that he was not done yet. Unable to figure out how he can find energy to keep coughing, Kanon could feel his head pounding, matching with his fervent heartbeat.

The third flower froze in his throat. His eyes widen, small tears trickling out. His tries to inhale are all futile, for no air could enter him. He was choking on the flower. He really was going to take his last breath now.

But the conviction melts away when Schneizel pulls Kanon closer. “It’s okay,” he whispers in Kanon’s ear. “You’ll be okay.”

His prince’s assurance is like a magical spell that makes him cough the flower out. His body remained tense, however, as he feared more and more flowers will climb up. The relaxing of his chest proved otherwise, but he was still not convinced.

When the air enters his lungs once more, in long, continuous breaths, it doesn’t feel right. Was this it? Was the attack actually over? Kanon could all but tell. His consciousness slowly returns, and he realises that he is a shaking mass in his prince’s arms.

Schneizel puts space between them, wide enough so their eyes could meet but small enough to keep their bodies locked together. “It’s over, Kanon,” he says gently, assuring.

Again, the prince’s words have a magical impact, and Kanon could feel the tension leave his body and be replaced with tranquillity. Sapphires and lilacs lock together, and for once Kanon feels a strong force in his body that isn’t pain.

Schneizel’s eyes narrow as he lightly shakes his head. Something of fury was painted all over his face. “Why...” he hissed. “Why did it have to be you?”

 _Because of you,_ Kanon wryly thinks to himself. _Because I have been under the spell of your charm from the moment we met._

Schneizel removes his arms from around Kanon, and despite being in a state of numbness the aide could still feel the loss like a wave crashing on a body of water. He watches, dumbfounded, as Schneizel removes one of his gloves. When the gloveless hand reaches for his face Kanon feels shivers run down his spine.

The tips of Schneizel’s fingers are warm and tender when he wipes Kanon’s tears away, which was weird because Kanon wasn’t aware he was crying. He thought that Schneizel would retract his hand now, but his hand instead goes to Kanon’s lips, wiping the blood seeping from the corner. Then it wraps around Kanon’s chin, tilting his head up.

Kanon just knew that had he been in his right mind, he would have absolutely lost it to have his prince’s hand on his face. No distance, no glove, just skin on skin. How badly he wishes his body would snap out of this numbness, so he can fully live the experience of truly being in contact with his prince.

Schneizel’s sharp gaze was almost enough to render him a shaking mass again. Kanon could swear those lilac eyes could see the secrets buried deep in his mind and soul. He desperately hoped they couldn’t see the love hidden inside him.

“Who?” Schneizel was asking Kanon, himself, the very air around them. “Who would do this to you?” He seemed to be very enraged at the person that was cruel enough to make Kanon go through this. Little did he know that the person was himself.

It was pathetically funny, how the White Prince, known for effortlessly crushing his enemies in battle using nothing but his tactful mind, for winning a game of chess against practically anyone, was oblivious to the deep love his aide has for him. Was oblivious to how he ceaselessly played around with his aide’s mind and heart.

Kanon is surprised when he laughs, though the laugh sounded more like a rough cough. “I could never guess, Your Highness.”

No one could guess. As should be. Kanon wasn’t supposed to be in love with his prince. But his attraction to Schneizel was something he could neither avoid nor withstand, only accept and be broken apart by. The land had nowhere to run to when waves came crashing onto it, after all.

How grateful Kanon was, that flowers couldn’t talk, for only they knew the love hidden deep inside the man’s heart.

He wondered what would happen if the flowers could talk, if they could utter the words he never dared to let slip past his lips. Would they tell Schneizel Kanon was in love with him, or would they tell him that Kanon was a coward for not saying the truth himself?

They will never know, because flowers can’t talk.

~

Kanon’s eyes have been closed for a long time. He can’t remember what he saw before closing them, and he doesn’t know what he will see when he opens them. Though he doubts he wants to open them. There was something about his current state that inexplicably yet immensely soothed him. Calmness was almost a foreign feeling for him now.

Despite his better thinking insisting on otherwise, Kanon opens his eyes. The stark blackness gave way to dim light, and the numbness in his body gave way to heaviness. He takes a deep breath, which made him very confused. How was he taking deep breaths? Last he remembered, he couldn’t even take small breaths.

When Kanon tries to sit up he feels a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay in place. Still utterly confused, Kanon takes another deep breath, making his mind and vision clear, and the first thing he sees is the second prince sitting by his side. He looks around, trying to place anything in the entirely plain, ivory room. It took him a moment to figure that he was in the hospital wing.

He tries to sit up again and Schneizel allows him this time, even helps him into a reclining position.

“Are you feeling well?” The prince asks.

Kanon tries to answer but realises he has nothing to say. He checks himself, taking note of soreness in his body and a light headache. But other than that he was strangely... livened. “Not too bad, Your Highness. I appreciate your asking,” he replies, his voice hoarse. He couldn’t tell Schneizel was tensed until he saw him loosen.

“I’m glad.” He softly sighs. He sounded like he’s been holding that breath for a long time, not daring to let it out. “The doctor assured your recovery will be speedy, but you still need some more rest.”

Kanon’s confusion returns. Recover from what, exactly? He was about to ask when he saw something on a stand next to Schneizel, and the sight made his heart drop to the floor.

In a glass box laid a long, bloody plant, a few flowers blossomed on the tips. Kanon’s memories are thrown back into his mind like a stone into a lake.

He had gone for the surgery, to treat the Hanahaki Disease.

All at once answers, as well as questions, flooded his mind.

He was in love, but with who? He was in love, but why had he gone for the surgery? He was in love, but how did it all lead up to this?

Schneizel makes all the doubts disappear when he puts his hand on Kanon’s shoulder. A ghost of a feeling causes a jolt in Kanon’s body, though he isn’t sure why.

“I know it’s hard,” Schneizel says empathetically. “But the important thing is that your suffering has ended.”

Kanon didn’t know if this was an effect from the surgery, but he indeed couldn’t feel the loss of love. “I understand that, Your Highness, and I will be sure to recover as soon as possible to return to my duties.”

“No, Kanon. You must take all time you need to recover. Your duties can be ignored. I only need you to be well again. Because I meant what I said that day.” Schneizel waits a moment, but when Kanon’s memory proves to be too hazy he continues, “when I said that you are important to me, not as a worker, but as another person.”

Another sliver of emotion slips into Kanon, but it is so small he can’t tell what it is. He can, however, appreciate his prince’s words. “Your concern flatters me, Your Highness.”

They say no more words to each other, but a soft smile is exchanged between them, and it was enough for both of them.

A small part of Kanon still wondered who he was in love with. It was anyone’s guess, now that he’s gone for the surgery. But when his eyes fix themselves on the turquoise flowers drenched in blood, he realises that the flowers do know who he was in love with. He wondered if they could tell him who that person was.

But that can’t be, because flowers can’t talk.

But Kanon didn’t need to know who he was in love with. He had his prince by his side, and that was all he needed.

There was something about Schneizel’s presence that oddly comforted him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read my other Code Geass Hanahaki Disease AU fanfiction—Petals of Miracle—you might have noticed a snippet in which Clovis mentions something about Kanon having been a victim of the disease and being forced to undergo the surgery as Schneizel didn't love him back. At the time I only added that as part of the dialogue without giving it much thought, but as I continued writing Petals of Miracle and even after finishing it, I kept thinking more and more about the idea I'd only mentioned, and noticed that it made for a promising work. 
> 
> I've also wanted to write a full fanfiction for this pairing, as all I have written so far is oneshots—published on this site as The White Prince and his Aide—and thus this work was created. It can be seen as a side work for Petals of Miracle, or as a standalone.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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